Storyteller
by Jakkitt
Summary: A small study on the abundance of stories surrounding the Joker and how he got his scars.


**So, I'd only just watched 'The Dark Knight' and after doing a little light reading and digging around in the Batman universe, I noticed the abundance of stories depicting different origin stories for the Joker. Not just the ones hinted at in the lore, but the stories written on this site, the ones people created out of their own ideas. This amused me for some reason and this little story kind of wormed its way into my brain until I wrote it down really quick at around one last night. Please enjoy my late night character study or whatever this classifies as.**

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 _"Wanna know how I got these scars?"_

People will believe anything. That's the beautiful thing about telling them stories; no matter how wild, how many lies, someone out there will believe him. He was a storyteller, what could he say? He loved telling stories and he had a flair for theatrics. And people would believe him. Because they weren't about to tell him he was wrong.

 _"Wanna know how I got these scars?"_

The words were tattooed on his tongue now, he said them often enough. But the thrill he got every time would never get old. The look of terror in their faces as he whispered the words inches from their face, the cold metal of his knife against their lips. Staring into their eyes and seeing that they knew what would happen after he was done weaving a new story into being just for them.

 _"Wanna know how I got these scars?"_

There were thousands of stories by now, only half of them had come from him, but this was the magic of the mystery. So many possibilities and no one can figure out where the truth lies. Rumors spread and stories twist. Like a mad game of telephone where people keep showing up and need to be filled in, but no one remembers what the original sentence was and start making stuff up until there are multiple sentences going around and everyone goes with it because they just don't know anymore.

 _"Wanna know how I got these scars?"_

He wasn't even sure anymore which story was true; he had so many stories running through his head. But did it matter? Weren't they all true in their own way? If people believe something, it's true, at least for them. Every story was true in someone's mind, and he wasn't going to tell them any different.

 _"Wanna know how I got these scars?"_

He knew the real story, even if he couldn't remember it. But that wasn't to say he didn't have favorites. He could look back quite fondly on some of the stories he had told. There were always the classics: drunk father, sometimes it's the mother. Or something involving his wife. Self-infliction was always a heart-stopper. Sometimes he would throw a sibling in there for spice.

 _"Wanna know how I got these scars?"_

There was usually some kind of logic, even if it was severely twisted, behind his stories, but sometimes he would just throw something completely outlandish out there just to screw with the stupid people who would believe anything he said. One story he enjoyed looking back on was when a random homeless guy had looked at him funny and he had pinned him against a wall, the edge of his blade pushing back the corner of his mouth.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?"

The words had slipped out his mouth easy as you please, and the poor drunk had stuttered out a jittered 'yes'. The booze on his breath told him that the guy would probably not remember any of this if he survived, small chance that may be. So, with a need for some therapeutic madness, he had spun the man a wild tale of how he had been walking his dog by the beach when the pooch had been attacked by a crab that had erupted from under the sand. He tried to save his dog, pulling out his pocket knife and charging the crab. But it was in vain. The crab had got the upper-hand, stealing his knife, killing his dog, and, as he lay helpless in the sand, slashed his face open with his own knife.

The guy was so wasted that by the time he was done telling the story, the man's eyes were bugging out of his head and he was pretty sure the guy had wet himself. He had ended up killing him after all.

 _"Wanna know how I got these scars?"_

He had to admit, some people told really good stories, there were a few out there that he was kind of disappointed he hadn't thought of. Some people just got it, and he felt a near sense of pride that he had managed to spark these stories people made up. One of these he had heard involved him getting into a fight in a woodshop and getting pushed face-first into a table-saw. He liked to imagine that one out sometimes, it could use a little more pizazz, but it was a start he could work with.

 _"Wanna know how I got these scars?"_

Did it really matter if they wanted to know or not? Not really. He was going to tell them anyway. It's not like they could stop him. Wasn't that every storyteller's dream? To have a captive audience? And he was a storyteller, they were captive, and they would believe him because nothing tells them not too. No story set in stone or printed on paper that tells you exactly what happened. Sure, there might be similarities, people might agree sometimes, but in the end, there is no truth, because it's all true isn't it? The stories are out there, waiting for someone to accept them as true.

 _"Wanna know how I got these scars?"_

A thousand stories, a thousand scars, painted on his face because, with every story, the scars become something new. The original ones are long buried under years and years of different perceptions. Does he care? Not really, because it's not about where the scars came from, it's about people's belief in the scars, the symbol they leave in peoples' minds, and the reality that they don't know the truth. They must make one up so that they can attempt to understand him, sometimes with a little prompting from him. But they will never get it right, so they are afraid; because people hate not understanding. They are afraid of him. So, the Joker will happily stir the chaos that they brew in themselves with one simple question.

"How do you think I got these scars?"

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 **A/N: I like to think I can keep these stories in character, but I'm so new to this fandom in particular that I'm a little unsure. Please review what you think of it. Constructive criticism is very helpful. Thanks for reading!**


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